The World Without
by Zagury
Summary: But it was worth it for Luna.


I'm down to a whisper.

That's how it was in the beginning—I could barely hear anything over all the noise of nonsense, over people that weren't her. They seemed so unimportant compared to her. I don't know why she became something, someone, that I wanted to see every single day of my life. I walked through the long corridors and took shortcuts just so I could get a glance of her during the day. And trust me, taking detours around Hogwarts was no easy task.

But it was worth it for Luna.

Luna, who made me fly by saying hello. Luna, with her silver hair and her moonlight, with wide blue eyes and knobby knuckles. Luna, with words that made most people stop walking but made me smile. Luna, with her nose stuck in an upside down magazine and Luna, in the library, by the Black Lake, in the greenhouses, in my dormitory. Luna, who I could find anywhere in the world and she'd still look at me like I was there by accident.

It started in the winter of our seventh year, when she stayed with us for Christmas. Hermione was rooming with Ron and Harry didn't stay with us, didn't stay at the Burrow, partly because of me and partly because he had a place of his own in Godric's Hollow—it was his first home away from Hogwarts and the Burrow. He came by for the dinners every week like he was supposed to and for family gatherings (he would always be part of our family) but he didn't stop by merely to surprise me anymore. I wasn't around to surprise.

So Luna stayed with me, because her father's home had been burned to ashes and she didn't want to stay in his tiny old flat with him in London. She brought few things with her; she put a hairbrush on my dresser and a toothbrush on my sink, clothes under my extra bed and various knick knacks on some of my shelves. It didn't seem like enough for two weeks with me, but then again, I suppose she had learned to get by with just enough since the war.

The first night she stayed with me, we spent long hours chatting quietly about the woes of life—I learned then everything that I could ever want to learn about her. She told me about the long months she had been kept in Malfoy Manor, how kind Mr. Ollivander was, how her father was now considered a traitor. She was so nonchalant about it all, to anyone else it would have seemed like she simply didn't care. But I knew Luna.

When I asked her about her first love, she looked at her wrist as though there was a watch there (there wasn't) and told me it was getting late, and that a story such as that would be better for another night. She turned over on her side and when I asked if she was awake five minutes later, all I could hear was the steady of her breath. I was awake for too many hours more; the thought of her, in my bedroom, and not next to me kept me up until just before dawn. I never lost sleep over Harry. I lost my head over Luna.

We went about our ways together; she fed the chickens with me and degnomed the garden with my brothers. My mother taught her to cook casseroles and when she'd add her own spice as a surprise, everyone's face would turn red—literally (she had something special she kept in her pocket that made our skin change colors, and she got the greatest laugh out of it) (it was worth being embarrassed to see her smile like that). When Ron and I tried to teach her Quidditch, she smirked and sat down in the grass with Hermione.

She said, "I'll ride with you some other day."

I grinned and said, "I'll hold you to that."

The days passed and I worried, for we had not shared another late night together since the first. She would brush her hair, her teeth, fiddle with her knick knacks and once she would lie down, she didn't say another word after, "Goodnight."

I was still losing my head over her the night before we left and we didn't speak, hardly looked at each other. I couldn't place my finger on it. She wasn't her usual chatty self like she'd been in the afternoon. (She could talk to Charlie about dragons all day.) I heard all the doors close in bedrooms above mine, heard my mother douse the fire, heard Luna's sheets rustle as she adjusted.

I turned onto my left side, away from her, so that there was a chance I wouldn't have to sleep on the train tomorrow. I was wrong.

The rustle of her sheets came again and I closed my eyes tight so I wouldn't check her. The lock of my door clicked and I heard her murmur a spell under her breath. She climbed over my body, her hands brushing my shoulders, and settled in right next to me, in front of me. I could feel her there and wasn't thinking about my eyes, still closed, because I knew every detail of her face—it was right there behind my eyelids.

"Ginny, open your eyes."

I obeyed and she was there. Luna, with her wide blue eyes boring directly into mine, into nothing else. Luna, with her small hands curled into her chest, her knees resting against mine. Luna, with my blanket pulled to her waist, with her toes wriggling against my ankles, with the most brilliant smile I had ever seen on her.

"What're you doing?" I asked, stupidly, suddenly, because what was I supposed to say to this? (I had been dreaming of her for so long, too long—even before I left Harry.) (And now she's in my bed, my perfect Luna, and what am I supposed to do?)

She exhaled in a sort of laugh, put her hand to the side of my face. Her thumb smoothed over my cheek, her eyes watching her own action. I couldn't look away from her face.

"You wanted to know about my first love, correct?" Her voice was quiet, but was so close that I couldn't pretend to strain to hear her in attempt to be closer. My head nodded under her warm palm.

"It was George." When I simply stared, she smiled with bemusement (I was so familiar with that look), and said, "I fell in love with him in fourth year, when we were still having DA meetings. He used to meet me early in the morning, just to say hello."

"You were in love with my brother?" I asked, and my voice sounded like it hadn't been used in ages.

"I was, for three years."

"Why?" I blurted, and it seemed so inappropriate and childish (and jealous) of me. But why was George always better than me? He was funny, sophisticated, yes, but I had some humor in me, didn't I?

Luna smiled and said, "He was caring, principled, intelligent, capable, hilarious, and surprisingly independent from Fred. I think I was one of the few people to ever see that in him."

I blinked a few times, trying to think of what I could possibly say in response to this. Of course George was all of those things—he was a Weasley, wasn't he? And that made me all of those things too. I felt immediate guilt for being so jealous of my dead brother.

"Were you ever with him?"

"Nearly six months. But he decided that I was too emotionally needy—I actually was rather obsessed with him—and cut things off. That was just before he left to start the shop. I was still tied to him for long after. We wrote letters, you know. He kept up with me. I still have all the letters I started writing to him and never sent because they were so desperate and childish. I claimed that we were meant to be together. Obviously, it was never true."

"He did say that we were soul mates once, though. I thought for a long time that I would never let that go."

I blinked, suddenly felt a strong urge to touch her (stronger than usual), and lifted my hand, rested it in her hair. She smiled. I sifted my fingers through the delicate strands of blonde, though it was practically silver in the moonlight streaming through my window, and tried to slow the beat of my racing heart. I couldn't think.

Luna's fingertips slowly moved across my cheeks, following the pattern of freckles over my nose, her skin grazing over mine with the ghost of a touch. I felt her knuckles brush against the bridge of my nose as she passed the back of her hand over my forehead. My hand moved in the same motion again and again, pulling her soft hair back from her face, my fingers tracing the shell of her ear. She'd smile when I did that, so I did it often, my heart ceasing to race. I was content with Luna.

She moved herself closer to me, her head near enough to rest under my chin. She fiddled with the collar of my sweatshirt, her hand slowly moving down my side until she was at the small of my back and her hand was touching my skin. I couldn't think again. She pressed her palm flat against my spine, drew circles with her fingernails, smiled at me, concentrated on my face. I couldn't look at her without blushing, could only focus on her skin making contact with mine.

But I wanted her to feel what I did, so I led my fingers over the features of her cheeks, her forehead, her nose. I could only think how lucky I was to be touching her like this (my dreams were coming true right before my eyes). She sighed with a sort of happiness in her tone and closed her eyes. I wanted to tell her she was beautiful but I couldn't do it (she was in love with George).

"What do you think now?" I asked her, my voice cracking between the sound of a whisper and a mumble. Luna didn't look at me, just scooted that much closer and felt my hands moving over her.

"I think there's no where else in the world I'd rather be right now."

She looked up and reached for me again (though the distance between us wasn't far). As her knuckle moved down my jaw line, I felt shockwaves of… something go down my sides, and I was again incapable of thought. Her thumb moved slowly, so slowly, over my lips and she looked at my face with an expression of fascination, as though she didn't believe this was real, I was real (I really wouldn't have blamed her if she didn't).

"Does this change things?" I asked her, and she paused.

"I don't want to make you any promises. I'm afraid I have an awful habit of breaking them."

"You don't have to promise me anything, Luna."

She looked up, smiled, took both my hands in hers. She kissed the back of my right hand, and after my heart fluttered from the first touch of her lips, we fell asleep just like that.

--

I realized when we returned to Hogwarts that I was an incredibly jealous person.

We had not discussed how we would go about things—I simply had not told anyone what was going on and I assumed she hadn't either. What was there to tell? We spent all night together before we were back at school and decided we were together. It made perfect sense to the two of us, but to anyone else in the world, I suppose it just wasn't the same.

In the meantime, however, we were meeting in the library during the afternoons, before I had Quidditch practice. I fought the strong urge to touch her every time we were close enough (and we usually were). She wouldn't work on Transfiguration homework with me, but instead, she'd wander from shelf to shelf, picking out books with ridiculous titles.

"'The Trials of Henry the Flobberworm'," she said, putting it down on the table in front of me. She leaned over me, her hair hanging so near my face.

"You don't want to read that. Hermione said it was dreadful." I said, smiling up at her and wrapping a lock of her hair around my finger because I knew no one was around.

"Hermione prefers fact to fiction, if you haven't noticed. I like to let my mind do what it pleases." She took the book in her hands again, starting to step away from me, turning back to another shelf.

"What does it normally please to do, then?"

"Think of you."

I thought I saw a coy smile emerge from her lips just before her head turned away, but I wasn't completely sure.

--

"Luna, what are you doing here?"

She was crawling into my bed again, wearing an old shirt I had given her in fifth year when we were going to get messy for a Herbology project in the Forbidden Forest—except it was past two in the morning and I had no idea how she had managed to get in here. I didn't ask because I wasn't sure I wanted to know, and what if she would surprise me like this more often?

"I've come to see you, silly."

"But if you're caught—"

"I'll tell them I brought you a tampon, for Muggle Studies. And I won't get caught. I've never been caught." She settled herself next to me, and even though this idea seemed troublesome to me, I put my arm around her middle to hold her in place. She smiled and watched me again, running her fingers through my hair and over my face again, again, again. I couldn't get enough of the way she touched me.

"Luna, I'm not taking Muggle Studies."

"You are tonight."

I laughed quietly and for the shortest time, it felt like we were together again, like the month before. She closed the curtains around my four poster and cast a silencing charm over us. She was beautiful when she would close her eyes and let me put my hands on her face, in her hair, was beautiful when she would open her eyes and smile, sigh, reach for me again.

But then again, Luna was always beautiful.

It felt like too short a time when the sun began splashing its colors of awakening against the sky, hues of pink and orange coming in through the dormitory window. She sighed, put her hand on the side of my face, and said, "I should go back up." My arm tightened around her.

She smiled and kissed my forehead, and I think my eyes closed instinctively, because I loved her kisses (even if they were never for my lips). She told me again, "I should leave," but I shook my head against her shoulder. I heard her do that exhale-laugh thing, and her lips pressed against my cheek. Her thumb smoothed over the place she had just kissed, and as soon as my arm loosened her from my grip, she was gone.

--

I met her in the library that following afternoon, bringing my things for school even though we never studied. (It was a miracle I was still making good marks at all.) Luna greeted me with a smile and stepped closer to me, her eyes moving over the shelves as though there were new books here everyday (there never were). Her fingers brushed against mine; I refused to move after that just in case it would happen again.

I thought it was funny how we rarely spoke of all the stolen moments we had spent together. We were aware of them, yes, quite aware, but we never really brought it all into words. Maybe Luna was better at creating those moments and I was better at reflecting upon them, better at trying my hardest to create them. Maybe those were our roles together.

Night entered the library faster than I remembered it coming, and slowly, people started filing out of there and onto dinner. Madame Pince never checked this area of the library, for some reason; perhaps because Luna and I were often the only people using this section—it was all on completely fictional stories, and most students only came to the library for research (unless you were Hermione). The clicking of shoes faded into the corridors and I checked the map that Harry had left with me (when I had tried to give it back, he told me he didn't want it because he'd only used it to look for me). Luna and I were the only ones left in the library.

She caught this same information whilst looking over my shoulder, and she put the book she'd been holding (she hadn't opened it) back on the shelf. She leaned against a table and pulled on my robes, tugging me closer so that I was standing in front of her, our hips nearly touching. She smiled, bringing our faces so close together that I could've kissed her, and I thought she was going to until she suddenly pulled away with a grin.

"Just kidding," she said, her hands remaining on my forearms. I sighed and rolled my eyes at her, my fingers fiddling with the clothing on her waist (I always put my hands on her waist). She smiled again and for some reason my heart started racing; I couldn't slow it down, because all I could think about was kissing her, here, in the library. She just kept looking me as she always did and I wanted to tell her to stop, because I couldn't meet her eyes.

I grabbed her hand and brought it to the pulse point on my neck, said, "Feel this." She stared at where her hand met my skin and smiled in a sort of wonderment, as if she couldn't believe that's what she was causing.

She put both her hands on my shoulders and, grinning, said, "Calm down." But I couldn't, simply couldn't, and felt the heat going to my face. I couldn't stop anything, stop or start or initiate and god, I was such a horrible girlfriend.

"I've never done this before." I said, because it was true—I'd never kissed her before. Kissing girls had to be different from kissing boys.

"Neither have I." She replied, and that surprised me, but I didn't want to ask. I didn't want to know what she could say about George and his kissing ability.

Oh god. Luna. Kissing George. Jealousy struck me with a sound of thunder.

She put her palm on my pulse point again, my heart still pounding faster than I could fly on Harry's old Firebolt. She smiled, kept watching me. It was all on me.

"Get closer again," I told her, thinking that was the only way I would ever be able to do anything—with her help.

So she did, and when Luna Lovegood kissed me for the first time, the whole world melted away.

--

Things felt unfamiliarly simple after that; I'm not sure why, but everything that ever was Luna and I felt true and honest and right. All the stolen moments in the library, all the notes she left me, all the nights she invaded my four poster, all the smiles she passed me in the hallway, all the times our hands purposely "accidently" bumped together—everything felt natural. Everything felt like love was supposed to feel like (and by this time, I knew I was in love with her.) It wasn't supposed to be this easy.

But then again, maybe it was.

She captured me in bed again. She was wearing another old shirt of mine that she must've picked up in my room at some point, because I couldn't remember ever giving it to her. Still, she looked lovely in it. (I loved it when she had anything that belonged to me, when she had anything that was mine.)

I tugged on the worn out fabric, pulled her closer to me. She smiled and leaned on me, her hand reaching for my face and stroking, simply touching along my jaw line. She sighed unevenly and I asked her what was wrong, and she said, "I'm nervous."

"But I never make you nervous."

"I know. That's why this is a problem." My fingers sought her pulse point instinctively and I inhaled slightly in amazement. Her heart was pounding; I felt like some sort of acceleration charm. She buried her face in the crook of my neck, her breath hot against my skin.

"Why're you so nervous?" I asked her, fingers brushing the hair away from her neck.

"I don't know." She mumbled with a small laugh in her voice, as though she was trying to leave the subject. But then she pressed her lips to my neck, moving progressively towards my mouth with each kiss until, finally, she was kissing me, hard and full and god, I'd never felt anything that made my body shiver like that.

Her tongue swelled against mine, delving and pushing, fighting against my own. The heat of her mouth was overwhelming and my body couldn't do anything but respond. My breathing quickened. My hands roamed over her back. I couldn't think about anything but her kiss, her hot tongue pushing on my lips, tracing circles into my mouth. I felt my spine curve so that our torsos made perfect contact, my stomach curving into the dip between her chest and belly.

Then I felt her shift, her knee digging into that place between my legs. I exhaled loudly into her mouth, interrupting any motion of her lips, until she captured my mouth in a kiss again. The heat boiling in my core could barely be contained. I kissed her as hard as she kissed me and when she pulled away, she left her lips close to my ear. In a breathless murmur, she said, "I can't."

What she couldn't do, I had no idea, because right then and right there, it felt like she'd given me the world.

--

The weeks passed and things were still simple; Luna was still simple and I was still simple and together, we were simple. I brought her sticks of candy every day and she drew me little pictures. I kept the notes she wrote me in my pillowcase so that, when she wasn't there to soothe me into sleep, I could still smile to myself, remembering her.

When conflict arose, we dealt with it. People started questioning us and eventually, we realized that it didn't matter what people thought and what people knew. What mattered was us. Luna, she opened up slowly, taking my hand in the corridor, hugging me without warning on occasion, sometimes looking at me in that way she always does just before she'll kiss me. But she never did, not in public.

Then, when it was raining one day, she took my out into the courtyard and kissed me for all of Hogwarts to see. And I think we were beautiful, under the rain.

As a surprise to her, I took her out of the castle one night. She loved feeling like she was on an adventure and I hoped that I made her feel that way. We sat by the lake, under the cover of some trees, and in the moonlight, we splayed ourselves out in the cool midnight grass. Her fingers tangled with mine, then her legs, her hair, her tongue, her smile. She tangled with me, but together we weren't a knot.

We were something else.

Luna took me back to the beginning, the one I'd never forget; her fingers, soft and smooth, traced the ridges of my collarbone, swirled in the loops of my ear, ran in the valley of my red hair. Her skin was warm against mine, her head ducked into the crook of my neck. I couldn't keep from smiling as I looked up into the night sky with her tucked into me, just like that.

She hovered above me for a moment, her hand cupping my cheek. Her perfectly splendid eyes met mine and I smiled at her, my fingers dawdling on the glass of her forearm.

"I love you, so much." She told me.

I kissed her, and against her lips, I said, "I love you too."

And just like that, we were beautiful.


End file.
